Heart of Stone - Heart of Gold
by pshortie265
Summary: "It was at that moment he realized, he loved Sybil Branson because she was Sybil Branson, not because she was Lady Sybil's daughter." Thomas and Sybbie's relationship through the years and how they impact each other's lives, starting when Sybbie is small. No spoilers after season 3. UPDATED!
1. Bear (1921)

A/N: I do not own Downton Abbey or any of its characters.

A/N II: I started writing this between season 3 and 4. It is multi chaptered and a work in slow progress. Chapter 1 stands alone though so I am finally publishing, mostly as a belated wedding gift for my sister, who has patiently read all my piecemeal scenes.

Season 4 has not influenced the story in any way although one plot in a later chapter mirrors a (minor) plot in season 4. I have not seen season 5 but will watch it as it airs in the U.S.

1921

Thomas wound the grandfather clock in the hallway. As under butler it was no longer his duty, but he found he enjoyed doing something soothing and familiar every day. He listened intently for the click when a very different faint sound came from deeper in the house.

He showed not confusion, but confidence as he slowly made his way towards what he thought was the source of the sound. As he did, the sound became louder, clearer, more insistent.

The cry of a child.

Curse Carson for giving the nanny the afternoon off!

Thomas turned around to make his way back to the servants' hall to find whichever one of the new maids agreed to keep an eye on the nursery. At the top of the main staircase he froze as the whimpering became a wail.

"The only thing we can do for Lady Sybil now is care for her child," Mrs. Hughes' words echoed in his mind.

Thomas didn't know much- anything- about babies. What if Miss Sybil was seriously hurt? He turned around. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, Lady Sybil Branson had been kind to him. And on those dark days after Lt. Courtenay's death, their shared grief had bonded them. Thomas had taken the blow much harder than Sybil. .

In losing Edward, Sybil had gotten through, and Thomas had cared for her. Not in the same way the chauffer did, but as a friend. But he had never gotten a chance to show his care for her, to thank her for her friendship during the war.

"The only thing we can do for Lady Sybil now is care for her child."

Thomas found himself in front of the nursery door. He softly knocked and waited for an answer like he would if he were knocking at Lord Grantham's door or any other door belonging to the family. The cries continued, and he realized how foolish he was. Of course a baby was not going to answer the door.

Thomas tentatively, slowly opened the door and peeked in. "Miss Branson?"

He didn't see her, but the baby's cries stopped.

An aristocrat at heart.

The child had stopped crying, so Thomas began to shut the door again. Then a terrible thought crossed his mind. He rushed into the nursery and peeked into the crib. The baby looked perfectly healthy, but he thought he'd better be sure.

Even though it had been nearly 3 years since the war, his first thought in checking a patient was to look for wounds. While Miss Sybil likely hadn't gotten hit by a grenade, it was possible she'd fallen or otherwise scraped herself.

Sybbie helpfully stood up and Thomas quickly assessed her arms, legs, head, back, and chest. No blood, no bruises. He looked at her eyes (Lady Sybil's no doubt, but her nose was a duplicate of the chauffer's), no dilation. He tentatively put two fingers next to her delicate neck and felt a regular pulse.

"You seem to be all right then," Thomas told Miss Sybil and turned to leave, intent on finding the maid immediately.

When he reached the door the wailing began again. Quickly he thought of what he might have missed. As far as Thomas knew, Miss Sybil did not have any prevailing ailments. She had gotten a cold once or twice in her young life that he remembered, and once had put her father in a complete panic over a high fever that persisted for a few days.

Then Thomas remembered Lt. Courtenay, as well as many other men he had seen in the hospital and at Downton during the war, and the unseen illness many of them had to fight. What he fought as well.

"Do you need a friend?" Sybbie stared at him, silent, leftover tears running down her cheeks.

"Well. Your mother was my friend, so I suppose I can be yours." Thomas straightened his uniform and stepped back into the room. Sybbie reached out and up at him. Thomas realized she wanted to be picked up and let out of her crib. Should be simple enough, he thought to himself. Thomas picked the girl up and set her on the floor.

She looked at up at him, a smile growing.

He looked down at her.

"Well, what do you do with your friends?" he asked her. "I suppose you don't want to have a smoke."

Sybbie giggled as if she understood him. Could she? Thomas wondered. Before he could ponder any further, Sybbie took off in an uneasy run to the other side of the nursery and plunked a toy off the shelf and ran just as fast back to Thomas.

"Ba!" She offered up the teddy bear to him.

"Why that's a lovely bear, Miss Bran-"

Sybbie had ran back to the shelf, grabbed a toy horse, and ran back to Thomas. "Na!" she offered the horse up to him as well, then immediately took off back to the shelf. This was repeated until the shelf was clear and Thomas' arms were full. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" he said. The train had been Da, a doll Koh, but another doll was La.

She looked at him expectantly. Thomas thought for a moment. What could he give back to her? He suspected these toys weren't really for him to keep, but Miss Sybil clearly expected something in return. Then he remembered he had snuck some sweets in his pocket earlier that morning. His new position kept him busier than before with less consistency, so he couldn't always catch a smoke break when he wanted to. He'd been going to the confectionary every week to pick up a few just for those moments when he needed something to tide him over.

With great flair, he knelt down to Sybbie, and gently put her toys down. He widened his eyes as much as he could. His audience was captivated, so he exclaimed, "What's this?!" with a gasp and pulled a sweet out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and gave it to Sybbie.

She squealed in delight and put it in her mouth immediately.

"It's a good thing I didn't give you something out of the other pocket," Thomas said, thinking of the packet of cigarettes.

The clock in the hallway struck four. Nanny would be back soon, surely, since the nursery dinner was served at five. Thomas placed "Ba" the bear (clearly Miss Sybil's favorite, a gift from Lady Mary if he remembered correctly) in the crib first, then gently picked up Miss Sybil again and placed her back in as well.

She seemed distracted by the bear and contented with her candy, so Thomas tentatively stepped away, then slowly made his way out of the nursery.


	2. Every Step She's Taking (1923)

Christmas, 1923

The servants' ball this year was almost as dour as it had been during the war, even though it was a remarkable improvement on 1920 and 1921 after the deaths of Lady Sybil and Matthew Crawley, respectively. The family still had not recovered, would never recover their spirits for tradition after these. Lady Rose gave gumption to the ball last year, but she was spending what little time she could with her parents in London for their brief holiday leave from India.

Thomas had given his first dance to the Dowager Countess, as was his right as the 2nd highest ranking male servant. He had also managed to dance with Lady Grantham before she slipped out, and Lady Mary before she slipped out even earlier. Now that he was finished with his dances with Lady Edith and Isobel Crawley, Thomas supposed he should turn his attention to keeping morale high amongst the female staff. His dancing ability was almost as well known as his lack of interest in female romance.

Thomas would have liked to give his first staff dance to Mrs. Hughes, but she seemed pretty contented dancing with Mr. Carson. He locked eyes with Daisy and she grinned. "The bear, perhaps, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas gave a sly smile back and held a gloved hand out to Daisy.

A tug on his coattails stopped them from joining the dance floor. Thomas whirled around to see who would dare do such a thing to the under-butler. His rage was put out before it began when he locked eyes with Miss Sybil.

"Bear! Barrow!" Miss Sybil exclaimed.

"Why of course Miss Branson, I would be honored," Thomas replied. He turned to Daisy. "I'm sorry Daisy, but the ladies of the house must have precedence."

"Of course, Mr. Barrow," Daisy graciously stepped aside and gave a slight curtsey towards the toddler, "Miss Branson."

Thomas gave his most lavish bow usually reserved for the Dowager Countess or visiting ladies of the aristocracy to Sybbie, who gave him a sloppy quick curtsey in return, but with a charming grin.

Thomas gently guided Sybbie into a position facing him but away from most of the dancers so they wouldn't crowd into her. He showed her how to make "claws" with her hands and to growl at him, stepping forward. Then they switched. Sybbie giggled in delight the entire time over several musical numbers while the rest of the party waltzed.

When Carson walked by, Sybbie turned towards him with her claws and exclaimed "Carson! Bear!" and growled. Carson looked down at Sybbie, then indignantly towards Thomas, who shrugged innocently. Like most of the household, Carson couldn't stay mad for long at the child who so took after her beloved mother they had lost.

"Regretfully, Miss Branson, I do not know the _bear_ dance. However, if you would like to join me with the foxtrot, I would be elated."

Sybbie nodded solemnly.

"First, curtsey to Mr. Barrow to thank him for the dance," Carson instructed Miss Sybil.

Sybbie turned to Thomas and gave him another shaky curtsey and another big smile. He returned with another lavish bow.

As Carson instructed Sybbie and put her little feet on his to guide her on the steps of the foxtrot, Thomas felt a pang of sadness and jealousy. Each step she's taking is a step towards who she'll be, he thinks. Growing up here, would Sybbie be trained to be a fine lady like Mary? Mary was beautiful and proud- everything an Earl's daughter- and Earl's wife- and Earl's mother- should be. Sybbie was unlikely to be any of these. She was a chauffer's daughter. A nurse's daughter. The daughter of his friend. Sybbie should be like Sybil- a woman with a mind and heart of her own.


	3. Evil Footman (1926)

_A/N I: I'm now jumping ahead in time to after season 5. Unfortunately, this no longer aligns perfectly with cannon. Remember I wrote the outline of this story between seasons 3 and 4, so some characters introduced since will not feature, even though they probably should. Still no spoilers for seasons 4-5; although some things that I wrote into the story did happen on TV, most of them happened on a wildly different timetable than Julian's. I hope that doesn't turn anyone off._

_A/N II: Sorry for the long delay in updates. I always swore I would finish a story before I began to post, and this is why. I had some serious RL get in the way. RL still getting in the way, to be honest, and will probably continue. I am still here. The second part of this chapter is still not done, but I don't think I'll be changing any of this first part- I was hoping if I waited until after the season 5 finale I could change any minor details that did not align to canon, but, that didn't work out so well for me._

Spring, 1926 (part I)

Thomas observed Sybbie and Georgie running and playing in the distance as he stepped out for his smoke break. The cousins had grown up close, half- orphans, half-aristocrats. They shared a governess now, the chauffer's daughter getting the same education as the future Earl of Grantham.

The world was changing. Actually, the world had changed, and Downton was finally trying to catch up. With the chauffer managing the estate for the past several years, the business model had been transformed into something that might just sustain itself well into the 20th century and throughout the life of young George. Branson and the Earl took young Master George out on their rounds throughout the estate so George could absorb and learn without being lectured. In turn, Lady Mary happily took Sybbie with her on calls throughout the county. That way, the focus was on Sybbie, and not Mary's rich widow status and moldable young son.

The remainder of the time, both children were learning Latin, French, arithmetic, history, and all loads of other subjects from the governess. Already young Miss Branson could recite and play piano with the best ladies of the land. How uncomfortable her father looked at each subsequent event! And yet how proud her grandparents were.

Lady Mary and the Earl and Countess sang the praises of the governess, Miss Harriet. Downstairs, she was tolerated at best. Miss Harriet made Thomas reminisce fondly about the days of the parade of incompetent, lazy nannies flirting shamelessly with the chauffer or Thomas himself. Miss Harriet was instead bad tempered, self-righteous and Lord Almighty, she did not refuse the rod with those children.

Thomas had experienced his fair share of the rod during his childhood as well. He could have done without. The abuse had made him cold, indifferent. It was the cause of everything he was that he didn't like.

Spare the rod and spoil the child, is what Carson had said when Thomas had reported the intensity of Miss Harriet's discipline techniques. Thomas had begun to protest, but Carson waved him off. Thomas had tried Mrs. Hughes, who had sympathized.

By the end of the week Mrs. Hughes reported that she had approached Lady Mary, who sternly reminded Mrs. Hughes about Miss Harriet's reputation and credentials, and her long list of former students who turned out to be the finest members of society.

Mrs. Hughes had then approached Tom. He timidly replied that both children seemed to be learning a lot from the governess and furthermore, he knew very little about what children needed from a governess, since he of course never had one, being largely self-taught. Mrs. Hughes did report that "Mr. Branson" had looked very pensive after the fact and Thomas had noticed that recently the chauffer had taken a less passive interest in his daughter's education. Thomas had even overheard some muttering after one of Georgie's readings of Calvin- "MY daughter shouldn't be learning that heresy," or something along those lines.

Thomas took a long, beautiful drag from his cigarette and smiled at Georgie and Sybbie inviting the neighborhood children to join their game. This was undoubtedly what Mr. Crawley and Nurse Crawley would have been proud of in seeing their children, not painting accomplishments or Latin poetry readings.

Thomas put out his cigarette and turned to go back inside when he heard a faint whimper coming from the direction where the children were playing. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sybbie on the ground, her cousin and the other children unawares halfway across the field.

"Barrow!" she cried between her wails. Thomas rushed quickly to the child's side and squatted beside her. Her knee was cut and bleeding and her whole left side seemed to be covered in dirt. Again he called upon his years at the convalescent home to assess her injuries. There was nothing severe, but her ankle was jetted out at an odd angle, and Thomas doubted she would be able to stand or walk on it.

"There, there, Miss Branson. It will be all right. I shall fetch Dr. Clarkson at once-"

"NO!" Sybbie screeched louder. "You! Make it better, Barrow!"

"Well, Miss Branson, I don't know-" Thomas had an idea. "I DO happen to have just the right medicine for a scrapped knee….." He pulled out a hard candy from his pocket and offered it to her.

"THAT's not medicine, that's candy, Barrow!" the little girl protested.

"Miss Branson, I am shocked! As you very well know, I was a medic with your dear mother during the Great War. I think I know what is _candy_ and what is _medicine_. And this, my dear Miss Branson, is definitely highly effective, cutting edge ankle medicine. If it looks or tastes like candy it is merely a coincidence."

Sybbie looked dubious, but look the candy and put it in her mouth. Her wailing turned to soft sobbing, but she continued to look at Barrow with suspicion.

"Very good, Miss Branson, thank you." Thomas knew Miss Sybil still had to be looked at by the doctor. He couldn't tell if she had twisted or broken her ankle. "Now I shall fetch Dr. Clarkson."

"NO! YOU! You have medicine, Barrow! You fix me! Stay here! I'm scared, Barrow!" Sybbie's cries increased again and she reached for Thomas' arm to keep him from leaving.

The child legitimately looked frightened, Thomas thought. He couldn't leave her alone in this state, but she needed the doctor. There was no way Sybbie could get to the main house on her own legpower. Thomas was at a loss when Sybbie's tears cleared slightly again and she called, "Georgie! Georgie!"

Thomas pivoted and saw the boy running about 20 feet away. "Master George," Thomas could not dare to raise his voice at the heir of Downton, but he did stand and between the two of them, they caught Georgie's attention.

"Sybbie?" the concerned boy walked over cautiously as if he were afraid of what he would see. "What is wrong, Sybbie?"

Sybbie's chin trembled and tears slowly fell down. Georgie turned to Thomas. "Barrow, I insist on knowing! What is wrong with my cousin?"

"I don't know, Master George. We need to fetch your Grandpa Clarkson straight away." Thomas weighed the options. Georgie would be unable to stop Sybbie if, stubborn girl, she decided to try to walk. It would be better if Thomas himself stayed and distracted Miss Sybil while Georgie ran to the big house to alert someone to contact Dr. Clarkson. "Master George, I need you to run as fast as you can to the house and have Mr. Carson or someone in your family telephone your Grandpa Clarkson right away. We'll stay right here. Your cousin can't move."

Georgie stood and turned towards the house, then turned around, "Is Sybbie going to die?" he asked Thomas.

"Of course not!" Thomas protested immediately. "I just need to stay here and make sure your cousin doesn't try to walk. Her ankle may be broken or sprained."

Georgie looked doubtfully at Thomas, then at Sybbie, then turned and ran-quite fast, Thomas noted- towards the house.

Thomas turned his attention back to Sybbie. "Tell me a story, Barrow!"

A story. Yes, that would be a good distraction. If Thomas knew any stories. "You've heard all my stories, Miss Branson, and I promise you, they are not nearly the caliber of Mr. Carson's."

Sybbie glared at him, chin trembling.

"Right. Um, allright," Thomas thought fast. "Once upon a time at Downton Abbey, there lived an evil footman."

"No, Barrow! There are no evil footman at Downton!"

"Of course not, Miss Branson! But this is a _story._" Sybbie looked somewhat pacified, so Thomas continued. "The evil footman plotted and pranked with the mean old ladies maid-"

Sybbie cut him off , "Mrs. Bates isn't mean or old!"

Barrow patiently explained again, "This is a story, Miss Branson," at least the girl was distracted and not crying. "The evil footman and bitter maid plotted against Mr. Bates! The evil footman tripped Mr. Bates in front of the entire house when a very important guest came to visit. Eventually, Mr. Bates was going to leave. He was in the car with all of his suitcases-"

"Oh no!" Sybbie exclaimed, enraptured in the story that included people she knew.

"When! At the last moment, your grandpapa ran for the car and demanded that Mr. Bates get out and continue working."

Sybbie giggled, injury forgotten. "Another Barrow!"

Thomas began again, "Once upon a time in London, your Aunt Mary-"

"No, Barrow! Evil footman story!" Sybbie demanded.

What have I gotten myself into? Thomas wondered. There weren't a lot of "evil footman stories" that would be appropriate for young Sybil. Or that he would want to share anyway.

"Once upon a time at Downton Abbey, there lived an evil footman. He stole something very valuable from your grandpapa, and then made it look like Mr. Bates had taken it instead."

"Why did the evil footman hate Mr. Bates so much?"

Damn kids. They get right to the heart of the matter, don't they? "Well, Miss Branson, that is hard to say," Thomas paused, "I think the evil footman resented Mr. Bates because he thought Mr. Bates had taken the job that he should have gotten."

"The evil footman was jealous?"

"That's right, I suppose. He thought he was too good, too important, to be a footman, or a servant at all really."

Sybbie responded thoughtfully, "My papa was a servant once. He was a chaw-show—"

"The chauffer. Yes, that's right Miss Branson. Shall I finish the story?" Sybbie nodded eagerly. "Mr. Bates was too clever and returned it to your grandpapa's room."

"The evil footman never got caught?"

"Nope."

"Mr. Bates was really nice to him."

"I suppose he was. Oh, look, here comes your cousin with Dr. Clarkson." Thank God, Thomas thought.

* * *

Thomas was up reading the paper in the servants' hall when Carson came in that night after the rest of the servants had gone to bed.

"I was just checking in on Miss Branson." Carson informed Thomas.

"Oh? Is everything all right?" Thomas was confident she would be all right. She was a tough girl.

"Of course. She just has to stay off her feet for a couple of days as the doctor ordered. Clarkson will be here in the morning to check on her again."

Thomas nodded and turned his attention back to the newspaper, thinking this was the end of the conversation.

"She wanted me to tell her a story about an evil footman."

Thomas now appeared very interested in his paper. "What story did you tell her, Mr. Carson?"

"I told her there are no evil footmen at Downton Abbey," Carson paused, peering at the younger man, "And never have been."

Thomas turned the page.

Carson continued, "You know what she said?"

Thomas flipped the paper down far enough to make brief eye contact with his boss. "What did Miss Branson say, Mr. Carson?"

"She said, 'There are no evil footman, Carson, but there's an evil governess.'"

"I wonder who that might be," Thomas mused, feigning disinterest.

Carson slammed his palms against the table. "We're talking about the health and well-being of the children."

"I thought if you spare the rod you'll spoil the child," Thomas said wryly.

"Not all of Miss Branson's scars are from her tumble this afternoon," was Carson's only reply.

Thomas stayed silent, biting his tongue.

Carson sighed, defeated. "You always have a plan, Mr. Barrow, what's your plan?"

Thomas raised his eyebrows yet higher, "Are you suggesting an alliance, Mr. Carson?"

"I'll do whatever in my power to keep those children safe," Carson said firmly.

Thomas nodded. "I do have a plan, but we'll need a little help."


	4. Evil Governess (1926 cont)

_A/N I: My sincerest apologies for the long wait between updates. I did not intend for it to take this long. This chapter was completely re-worked at least 3 times. I think 5 words are the same from original to final draft. I'm still only like 90% happy with it. Plus, since updating, I have started a new job and been in two weddings. Life is busy! You are rewarded for your patience with the longest chapter yet._

_A/N II: As a reminder, we are in spring 1926. Sybbie is about 6, George about 5. They have an abusive governess and Thomas and Carson are joining forces to help the children get rid of her. Characters and story elements from beyond season 3 are not a factor. Enjoy!_

* * *

Sybbie had a habit of sneaking off to the downstairs at least once a day. She enjoyed treats made from her by Mrs. Patmore and dancing along with the piano. She was spoiled by the whole staff and loved every moment of it.

Sybbie stayed off her feet as long as the daughter of Lady Sybil Crawley could be expected to. She was racing down the stairs days before Clarkson would have liked.

Thomas and Carson sat Sybbie down with her favorite tea. She chatted away happily about all the special attention she'd gotten because of her ankle.

"Miss Branson," Carson began as Sybbie took a sip, "remember when you told me about the evil governess?"

Sybbie nodded, fearfully.

"You know Lord and Lady Grantham and Lady Mary don't see Miss Harriet as evil. All they see is that you and Master George are learning and are very clever. "

Sybbie had tears in her eyes and her lower lip trembled, "I tried, Carson, I did, I tried telling my papa and grandpapa-"

Thomas couldn't stand seeing the sweet girl cry. He knew it wasn't proper, but he got out of his chair and knelt down next to Sybil. "Now, you listen to me, Miss Branson, you did nothing wrong. Mr. Carson and I have a plan, okay?"

Sybbie kept crying. "But she hurt Georgie too, I couldn't stop her! I couldn't stop her, Barrow! I couldn't." She had started crying like a lady, but now bawled like a little girl and reached out to Thomas for comfort. Thomas glanced helplessly at Carson. Thomas was extremely uncomfortable but his love for the girl outweighed it.

Carson was even more uncomfortable, so after a moment he cleared his throat, leaned over the table, and whispered, "Miss Branson, Mr. Barrow and I have a plan to make sure Miss Harriet never hurts you or Master George ever again."

Sybbie sniffed and pulled her head up from Thomas' shoulder. Her hand remained there as she said, "You do?" a glimmer of hope appeared in her eyes when she looked between the two men.

"We do," Thomas assured her, "We can show everyone how evil Miss Harriet is, and after that, Lord and Lady Grantham won't want to keep her here. But, we need your help."

"My help?" Sybbie asked tentatively.

"Yours, and Master George's."

"I'm scared, Barrow," Sybbie whispered.

"I promise it will be okay. You know the song that's always sung on the wireless?"

Sybbie nodded.

"We just need you to sing that song and change a few words. Just this one time. And say that Miss Harriet taught you the song. That's all." Thomas said quickly.

"That's lying, Barrow," Sybbie protested.

Thomas had no answer for that. Carson did. "Miss Branson, did Miss Harriet teach you that song?"

Sybbie hesitated. "I guess."

* * *

_Breakfast, the next morning, servants' hall_

"Miss Harriet, how do the children fare at their studies?"

Thomas suspected Anna had been clued in to their plan. Now he was almost certain.

"Just because you can't have any children, Mrs. Bates, does not mean you need to pry into the lives of others'," Miss Harriet flippantly replied.

Most of the staff sat in shocked silence at the governess' cruel reply.

Mr. Carson, however, had diplomatically responded to countless such barbs- many of which Thomas himself had delivered. "Miss Harriet, I believe Mrs. Bates was making polite conversation. There is no harm in her knowing how the children are."

"I believe we are all curious, Miss Harriet," Mrs. Hughes innocently sipped her broth, "perhaps another recital is due."

"Oh yes," Daisy enthused from the doorway. "Recitals are such fun! I'm always _so_ impressed, Miss Harriet, with all that you can teach the children to do."

Daisy was in on the plan too! Blast it! Thomas lit a cigarette in frustration. It had been inevitable that Carson would include Hughes, but this was insanity.

The rest of the staff enthusiastically agreed with Daisy and spoke of their favorite portions of the previous recitals the children had given.

Carson cleared his throat to quiet the noisy room. "Needless to say, Miss Harriet, your recitals have a lot of fans. And I doubt they are all downstairs," he said pointedly.

Miss Harriet said nothing, but Thomas knew well the looks of a devious mind in motion, and she had one.

* * *

A few days and about a hundred cigarettes later, Thomas resigned the effort to contain the plot. It seemed everyone was asking Miss Harriet pointed questions, gossiping about her views, and making observations to each other about her habits and words.

"MISTER Barrow, I'll ask you to cease distracting Miss Sybil from her studies this instant." Miss Harriet snapped at Thomas as he slowly walked past the nursery.

"My deepest apologies Miss Harriet, I was just curious to see if Miss Sybil wanted to rehearse for the recital downstairs at all."

"Downstairs? Why ever would she rehearse there? So dirty!"

"While that may be true, Miss Harriet, we certainly don't want Miss Branson rehearsing upstairs. Her grandparents will hear her in progress! We want them to hear the final perfect product and be in awe of all that you have accomplished."

Miss Harriet paused.

Sybbie piped up, "Perhaps, Miss Harriet, Georgie and I—"

"Your cousin's name is George, Miss Branson. One day you will call him Lord Grantham. Don't you forget that," Miss Harriet lectured Sybbie.

"_George_ and I could rehearse downstairs just before bath."

"I suppose there are times you could rehearse there, like before riding or before bath. Yes, I'm glad I thought of that." Barrow rolled his eyes. Miss Harriet continued, "Very well, Miss Branson, we will schedule you and Master George to rehearse in the downstairs piano once a week for an hour until the recital. I, of course, will have to spend the time preparing the program, so I presume, Mr. Barrow, you will be able to look after the children?"

This was another one of Miss Harriet's ploys. She often coerced others into watching the children, and thus, doing her job. She usually sat in her room and read magazines discarded from Lady Mary or Lady Edith. Most of the staff adored the children, so she got away with it much of the time.

"Of course, Miss Harriet," Thomas plastered his sly, fake smile, "Mr. Carson or I would be thrilled to look after Miss Branson and Master George for a short time. You ought to rest, put your feet up."

Miss Harriet was too self-absorbed to detect Thomas' sarcasm, so she nodded dismissively and turned back to her needlework. Thomas winked at Sybbie, then whistled the rest of the way downstairs, picturing Miss Harriet in the bread line.

* * *

_A few weeks later, dinnertime_

God bless them, those children were clever. Well, at the end of the day, they were children of the Crawley sisters. Even with the limited time Carson and Barrow had with the children to teach them the new lyrics to a familiar song, they both knew the words well. Next time Carson hires an upstart, snotty maid (only a matter of time), I'm recruiting Sybbie and George to help me, Thomas thought as he carried a tray into the dining room.

The conversation among the family was already in progress.

"I hear the Duchess is very near her time," Edith was saying.

"Do you suppose they would announce it on the wireless?" Cora, the progressive American, enthused.

"Why not?" Mary said. "Papa, can we bring out the wireless after dinner and see if there is news of a new royal baby?"

"Absolutely, that is a splendid idea!" Lord Grantham turned to Thomas. "Barrow, I trust you will arrange it?"

Thomas bowed. "Happy to, m'lord." He replied, and began sweating profusely. The children were clever enough to learn new lyrics to a song they had heard a thousand times, but to expect them to understand and know to sing the original lyrics in this situation might be a lot to ask.

* * *

Barrow and Carson were not successful in pulling either of the children aside to warn them. Thomas watched the children intently as the entire family was gathered around the radio. The broadcast was almost over and his heart rate had not slowed in the last two hours.

Thomas braced himself against the wall as the familiar tune projected. The family stood, including the children. Sybbie turned her head around to see Carson and Barrow- and winked.

God save our gracious King!  
Long live our noble King!  
God save the King!  
Send him victorious,  
Happy and glorious,  
Long to reign over us:  
God save the King!

If I didn't know better, Thomas thought with relief, I'd credit their governess.

"Sounds like there is no new prince or princess tonight," Lord Grantham bemoaned while turning off the radio. Thomas had been too panicked to pay attention to the content of the broadcast and had not noticed the announcement the family waited for never came.

"We'll just have to listen again tomorrow night, Papa," Lady Edith said.

There are not enough cigarettes in Yorkshire, Thomas thought.

* * *

Thomas had no use for royal babies, but was immensely relieved when the news of the birth of a healthy princess was announced the next night.

The entire household, plus many of their usual visitors, were now gathered two weeks later and the stage was set- for Miss Harriet's professional demise.

They waited until the end.

"And now," Sybbie announced, "my cousin and I will perform Miss Harriet's favorite song in honor of all she has taught us. "

"Isn't that sweet," Cora whispered to Lord Grantham.

Sybbie sat at the piano and placed her fingers on the keys. George sat beside her, ready to turn pages and sing along. Sybbie's eyes moved momentarily over toward the line of servants where Carson and Barrow stood. For the first time in the 15 years working together, the two men nodded ever so slightly in synch.

If these two men, whom Sybbie loved, but hated each other, who had rivaled and quarreled long before she had been born, could agree that this was the right thing- well, that was all the confidence Miss Sybil needed.

Miss Sybil began playing a tune everyone knew. Lord Grantham was on his feet so fast Barrow thought he'd have whiplash. Everyone else followed suit- except Miss Harriet.

Why she didn't, Thomas would never know. Later she claimed it was her knee. Maybe she really did have some anti-monarchist in her. Maybe the Lord above finally recognized that Thomas occasionally did something for the overall good.

Whatever the reason, it played perfectly into Thomas' plot and in that brief moment, Thomas knew Miss Harriet was out of their lives. Out of dear sweet Sybil's life. She and Master George were safe.

"God Save our gracious King-" Thomas sang with everyone else.

Everyone except Sybbie and Georgie.

They sang something else.

And then no one sang at all.

The entire household went pale- even Tom.

Miss Harriet jumped first and forcefully pinched Sybbie's wrist off the keyboard. "You smelly Irish republican!" she spat. "How dare you teach your cousin such filth?!"

"Sybbie did no such thing!" Tom ran up to his crying child and wretched her out of Miss Harriet's grasp. Tom held her close and comforted her. He knelt down to his bewildered nephew. "Georgie, who taught you that song?"

Lord and Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess, Ladies Mary and Edith had all gathered close enough to hear Georgie's whisper.

"Miss Harriet did, Uncle Tom. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was so bad!" Georgie then joined his cousin in tears and Tom reached out for him too, knowing Lady Mary was unlikely to show affection to her son in public.

Lady Grantham, the first to gather her wits, turned to the servants who had stood in the back. "Thank you all for coming, but the show is over. It should go without saying, but the views implied by the words that slipped from the children's mouths are not shared or tolerated by Lord Grantham and myself. Please return to your duties."

* * *

It was safe to say after that, everything had gone off according to plan.

Miss Harriet was escorted out the door the very afternoon of the recital and was allowed to stay at the Grantham Arms- for one night. The next day, Mrs. Hughes "discovered" some paraphernalia planted earlier (Tom Branson had been in on the plot as well), and Lord Grantham suddenly started to remember what all the people around him had been telling him for weeks, but he was too stubborn to hear. Miss Harriet was then formally discharged without a reference, never to darken the doorway of Downton Abbey ever again.

* * *

_The night following the recital, late_

Thomas sat in the servants' dining room, smoking and reading the paper, miraculously still employed.

Thomas didn't look up when Carson walked in, but asked, "How is Miss Branson, Mr. Carson?"

Carson's only response was, "It's your turn to check on her, Mr. Barrow."

Mrs. Hughes stepped out of the shadows. "Best go up there straight away. She's asking for you."

Thomas exhaled his cigarette, calmly put it out, and left the room.

Mrs. Hughes peeked around the corner and saw Thomas taking the steps two at a time. She smiled to herself, thinking of the hard- hearted under butler with a big soft spot for a little girl without a mother. She turned to Mr. Carson, "Tea?"

* * *

As Mrs. Hughes hinted, Sybbie was eager to see the underbutler. Thomas found her, nightgown and rumpled hair, an hour or more after her father had tucked her in, peaking out of her suite. Sybbie ran towards him and threw her arms around his waist. "Barrow! We did it! We did it, Barrow!"

Barrow looked each way down the hall, and seeing no one, lifted the little girl into a full embrace.

Thomas couldn't remember the last time anyone hugged him. It was at that moment he realized, he loved Sybil Branson because she was Sybil Branson, not because she was Lady Sybil's daughter.

"YOU did it, Miss Branson. You and Master George."

"Miss Harriet is gone."

"That's right. She won't be able to hurt you any more. It's all because of you. You and Master George changed your destiny." Thank you, Lord, Thomas thought.

"We won't sing that song again."

"That's a good idea."

"I've never seen Grandpapa so mad!" Miss Sybil's eyes were big in awe.

I have, Barrow thought.

"Thank you, Barrow," she whispered in his ear.

"You're welcome, Miss Branson. Now, it is past your bedtime. I'll tuck you back in, okay?"

"Will you tell me a story?"

"Sure," Thomas set the little girl down and cleared his throat. "Once upon a time at Downton Abbey, there was an evil footman and a stern butler. The footman and butler fought all the time, until one day, a beautiful young princess needed their help…."

* * *

_A/N III: Not only do I not own Downton Abbey, I also do not own the lyrics to "God Save the King (Queen)." _

_A/N IV: The "royal baby" referenced is Queen Elizabeth II._

_A/N V: You will be happy to know, I have already started the next chapter, and I have every reason to hope it will not be 8 months between updates. _


	5. Cricket Lessons (1928)

A/N I: Ah, apparently I haven't posted since the series finale in the U.S. Officially, This fic is 90% cannon friendly and the 10% is mostly timing changes and differences- shouldn't affect your enjoyment of the story!

A/N II: You'll notice the random switching between referring to Thomas as "Thomas" and as "Barrow," not just in this chapter, but in the ones that follow as well. This story has been a WIP since the end of season 3 when Thomas was still Thomas on the show, but in later seasons he's been referred to as "Barrow" and that has seeped into the fic. I realize it, but I think it adds a dimension to show Thomas' identity switching back and forth, in crisis.

1928 (Sybbie is about 8 and Georgie is about 7)

"I think cricket's like anything else. When you learn it as a child, there's an understanding that's hard to come by later."- Mosely, season 3 ep 8

* * *

"But _Georgie_ gets to!" Thomas walked into the dining room for breakfast in the middle of a heated discussion between Lord Grantham, Tom, and Sybbie.

"Georgie doesn't get to go calling with Mary, or go to needlework class- and you don't play cricket." Lord Grantham said firmly.

"Papa-"

"Sybbie, you'll not argue with your grandfather. Now, I believe you have a riding lesson this morning, I know you'll enjoy that," Tom replied calmly.

"Yes, papa." Sybbie reluctantly got out of her chair and gave her grandfather, then her father, a dutiful kiss. As she left, her eyes fell to Barrow.

Once the door shut behind Sybbie and Thomas moved to clear her plate, the conversation continued between the two men.

"Robert, I really don't know why she can't play," Tom addressed his father in law.

"You just told Sybbie you agreed with me!"

"No, I told her not to _argue_ with you."

"If only you'd apply the same principle to yourself."

"Sybil would have wanted her to play."

Grantham scoffed.

"She would have been proud of Sybbie for knowing her mind and going after it, even if it was something meant for boys."

"Meant for boys, precisely! Sybbie could get hurt playing. The sport isn't meant for ladies."

"Sybbie's not a lady."

"Women then," Grantham said with an eyeroll. "Barrow!" he called to Thomas, "You're a fine cricket player, what do you think? Can women play?"

"Women, m'lord, or Miss Branson?" Thomas replied.

Tom raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

"Women in general, Barrow, and Miss Branson specifically," Grantham replied, ignoring his son in law.

Thomas had to choose his words carefully. "Miss Branson demonstrates a great deal of athleticism, m'lord. As her father and grandfather, you of course know what is best and wisest for her health and happiness."

"See there, Barrow agrees with me!" Grantham enthused.

"Barrow gave you a careful and diplomatic reply as a man under your employ. You can expect nothing more for putting him in such a position." Branson replied, then returned to his meal.

Barrow slipped out with Sybbie's plates before Grantham could corner him for his "honest" opinion.

* * *

"Barrow!" Sybbie jumped out at him as he left the dining hall.

Thomas straightened against the wall, holding the tray so Sybbie and he could talk but no one could see them. "Miss Branson?"

"Teach me to play cricket, okay? Meet me in the field right before tea."

Thomas whirled around to respond to the request, but Miss Branson had taken off running down the hall. She knew Barrow would be obliged to at least meet her, and then she could convince him.

* * *

Barrow was obliged to meet her, but it wasn't easy, and he wasn't happy.

Sybbie dragged a bat behind her and carried a ball.

"Miss Branson," Barrow greeted her without emotion. She dropped a ball at his feet.

They were silent. Birds chipped as if for effect.

"Please, Barrow," is all Sybbie said.

He sighed. "Let's start with the rules. It won't matter how well you bat if you're running around like a chimpanzee."

Sybbie giggled at the thought. "I know all the rules already, Barrow!" She then proceeded to recite to Thomas, in good detail, on positions and innings, outs and fouls, even strategy.

Barrow was shocked at first, but it turned to worry as Sybbie continued on. When she finally stopped, she looked at him for approval. "Well, I think you have that covered, Miss Branson," he paused, "Did you learn all that from Mr. Mosely, by chance?"

Sybbie nodded.

"Did Mr. Mosely try to teach you to hit as well?"

Sybbie nodded again.

"Splendid," Thomas said, hoping the child wouldn't pick up on his sarcasm.

* * *

After a few weeks it was clear Sybbie wasn't picking up the skills from Barrow as fast as she picked up the rules from Mosely.

"ARRRGGH!" Sybbie let out a frustrated cry when she swung and missed Barrow's easy throw for what felt like the millionth time. She threw her bat down with force. "This game is stupid! Barrow, you are throwing the ball wrong."

"You know that's not true, Miss Branson." Thomas replied calmly. He patted his pockets and smiled when he found a rogue cigarette tucked there. No candy for Miss Sybil, but she was too old for that trick now.

Sybbie pouted. Thomas sighed. The girl had been blessed with intelligence and wit and talent for many things. She usually picked up skills- horse riding, French, bike riding- very quickly. Cricket seemed to be the exception.

Thomas knelt to her level, puffing his cigarette. "You can't always get exactly what you want, Miss Branson."

"I know."

"And even when you do get what you want, it doesn't turn out the way you think it will most of the time."

"I know!"

Thomas wasn't sure she really understood, but perhaps she was going to have to learn the hard way. He had to learn the hard way. A couple of dozen times.

Thomas got up and reached for Miss Branson's hand. "Let's go for a walk, Miss Branson. We need a break."

Sybbie was suspicious, but obliged him.

They walked in silence far too long for Sybbie's gregarious personality. Barrow seemed to savor every moment and view, but Sybbie, who had freely roamed and explored the grounds daily since early childhood, was bored.

Finally, Barrow spoke. "Lady Sybil," he told her, "would have been so surprised at the world today. So much had changed even in the 8 years since she died. You know what would have surprised her the most?"

"No, tell me, Barrow."

"This family. This family has changed so much. Eight years ago your papa was not accepted at all. You already knew that, so don't act like it is some scandalous secret. This family has grown and changed so much. Your mama started that. She wanted to learn to cook. She wanted to wear trousers! She wanted to vote and have a career. Now, look- Lady Edith writes and Lady Mary runs the estate. Unfathomable a decade ago, but your mama paved the way by starting as a nurse."

Sybbie thought about this, but didn't really know what it had to do with cricket.

"My point, Miss Branson, is you don't have to excel to make change. Lady Sybil failed miserably at cooking! You should have seen it.

You don't have to impress them with your incredible cricket abilities to prove that you can and you should do everything that your cousin or any other boy does. All you have to do is show them you can play and no amount of insults or teasing is going to stop you from playing. No matter who tells you that you can't play because you are a girl, that won't stop you. That will start the change, Miss Branson, but it's not going to happen overnight. The village sees you playing and maybe a few years from now they will let one of their daughters or wives play. You will pave the way. This is the power of being born into the Crawley family, and don't you forget it."

Sybbie thought about this for a moment. "You mean, just by playing I will show them? I don't have to be the best or hit a home run?"

"That's right, Miss Branson. Do you want to go practice now?"

Sybbie thought about that for a moment as well, then shook her head and slowly smiled. "Tag! You're it, Barrow!" She touched him gently on the sleeve and took off running. Barrow laughed and ran after her, happy to see Lady Sybil's carefree little girl back.

* * *

The day of the annual cricket game arrived, and it just so happened that the house team had exactly the right amount of players to form a team, with no one to spare.

Lord Grantham called the men to huddle in from their fielding practice. Barrow had been helping Master George with his fielding and were the furthest pair out. George took off running as fast as the wind and Thomas spotted his opportunity.

If I can have my hand shot to get me out of battle, surely I can trip and fall to get a motherless little girl to have her dream come true.

So Barrow tripped, and legitimately twisted his ankle.

Grantham refused to believe that Barrow was injured and kept him on the roster. Barrow whispered to the hall boy who got the (perfectly decent, thank you very much) governess to spirit Sybbie away for the quickest change of clothes. They came out just as it was Thomas' turn in the lineup.

Grantham batted right before Barrow and struck out. Dejected, he turned to the under-butler with hope, "It's your turn."

Thomas cleared his throat, "I got a replacement, m'lord, because of my ankle."

"A replacement?! There are no replacements to be had, we have every single able bodied man eligible on the team already."

"I found someone. I've coached them and Mosely taught the rules. She's not going to be perfect, but she'll do."

"She?!" Grantham's face was red hot but it turned at the sound of the bat hitting the ball. Barrow watched too and cheered, "Yes! Yes! Way to go!" louder than anyone, and full on screamed, "Hurrah!" when Sybbie slid- yes slid- into the base.

"Who IS that?" Carson asked.

"Miss Branson." Thomas said with a smile.

"Miss Branson?!" his boss and his employer asked incredulously.

"Yes, Miss Branson just got a base hit."

Grantham stared incredulously for a moment, then started laughing. He'd picked up this trick from his mother. Sometimes, she said, when the world doesn't make sense anymore, you just laugh it off and wait for the Lord to explain Himself at the pearly gates.

"I guess," Lord Grantham said as his laughter died down, "perfectly able bodied men can get _injured_ playing a sport and little girls play with gusto and are as healthy as ever."

"Your lordship is wise," Thomas replied. From across the field he saw her wink, and Thomas smiled and winked in return.

And so it came to pass, some 10 years after Lady Sybil had planted the seed of women's rights in her father's mind, fruit began to bear, thanks to her daughter.

* * *

Earlier that year, Lady Mary insisted that George and Sybbie were old enough to start partaking in dinner with the family. Not when there were guests, but when it was just the family, so they could learn.

This night was the first night the children were allowed to sit with the Dowager present. She gave a startled snort when she saw them in the room before "going in", but made no comment.

"I think we should have lots of girls on our team!" Georgie declared. He had a great time at the game, although not performing very well. Barrow would have to work with him next year.

"Well, I don't know about _that._" Lord Grantham protested.

Mary scoffed. "Oh, come now Papa, Sybbie's as tough as nails. She won't get hurt. Nor will any other girl more than any other boy."

"I quite agree," Edith said.

Lord Grantham was dubious, but knew if Mary AND Edith agreed on something, he would probably lose. "What about the other team?" he protested, "it won't be fair to them! They'll be trying to avoid hurting her and won't be able to concentrate, or play well."

"What if we got permission from the opposing team's captain?" Mary asked with a sly look that her father missed, but Barrow caught.

"Well, I suppose, but…. Clarkson has stepped down after this year. Who will be the captain of the village team?"

The entire table now had a sly look that even Lord Grantham couldn't miss. All eyes were pointing towards Lady Grantham.

"The village team always wins." Lady Grantham said.


End file.
